Saying Goodbye
by HoofsTails Gal
Summary: "I love you." John's voice cracked and he looked at Sam then Dean. "I love you both."
1. Prologue

**_Important:_** I recommend you read this story very slowly and carefully because a lot of the text has double meaning and symbolism.

_Summary: _The Winchesters face their darkest hours.

_Disclaimer_: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. I do own the poems at the beginning of each chapter cause I wrote them, if you take one then please credit this story.

**Saying Goodbye**

Prologue

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_Please don't let it rain today,_

_Allow me that one luxury._

_Oh please don't let the rain drops fall, _

_a single day without the tears. _

_Spare me from the moist cold _

_and save me from the droplets. _

_Allow me that one luxury. _

_Don't make the sorrow hit my skin _

_and absorb into my soul. _

_Oh please I'm simply begging you, _

_just please, don't let them go._

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Dean leaned over the stone, possessive in his sorrow. It hit him hard every now and then although it had happened nearly eight years ago.

Eight years. Eight lifetimes. Eight hearts. Eight souls.

The pain never went away really, it remained throbbing at his chest, pounding it's beat against an already beaten frame.

He looked down, reading the words etched into the stone, reading the words that were marked in his mind, reading his own death off of the granite slab.

_Samuel Winchester_

_Beloved Son and Brother._

_We were always proud_

Dean looked away, the pain increasing in his chest 'til it was unbearable. He looked into the sky; the clouds always seemed to blow in when Dean's sorrow was at its peak. Then they'd drop their load just as Dean would drop his, preparing for another year of emotional wear and tear before dropping the load again- in front of his brother's grave.

None of it mattered. Not because he no longer cared about his personal image, but because Sammy was gone... away... dead.

Dean felt a rain drop smatter on his head. He closed his eyes, the first of many warm, salty tears falling down his face. Another raindrop fell, and another. Each one landed softly unnoticed, unrecognized for their unique shapes and sizes.

He opened his eyes, watching as the droplets fell on the gravestone, leaving individual wet marks every time they hit.

He watched until the moistness blended, the stone completely covered in rain. He watched as his own tears wet his face 'til there wasn't a single dry spot left.

Hours passed. Cold, wet hours, that seemed to last longer than eight years, longer than eight lifetimes.

Dean finally stirred, his aching body protesting. But the soreness was forgotten for the pain still beating in his chest overpowered everything else.

He leaned forward, setting the daisies he'd brought into the cup at the base of the soaked gravestone.

"You always liked daisies," Dean whispered below the patters of the falling rain. "Even after I said they were girly."

Dean chuckled sadly, the throb in his chest making him gasp at the end of his pitiful laugh.

Suddenly Dean felt himself punch the ground he was kneeling on, the pain in his chest practically bursting. He shouted in anger, punching the ground harder so that the well-manicured grass smashed into the moistened dirt. He made a snatch for the daisies, throwing them roughly to the ground. When he realized what he had just done he doubled over, sobbing openly, rocking back and forth in the rain, whispering his apologies to deaf ears.

"I'm sorry Sammy... So sorry." He continued to sob heavily with guilt and sorrow for a while longer. He reached over and gently picked the flowers up off the ground and placed them back into the cup, his wet fingers fumbling to balance them together.

He stared at the name, remembering all the good times he'd spent with Sam. After eight years he'd trained himself perfectly to forget the bad and think of only the good. Dean wiped at a tear, his attempt to stop crying proving futile and pointless. The rain continued to fall, dampening the landscape. The water clung to Dean's hair and cascaded down his back and neck in rivulets of icy cold moistness.

He shivered, registering the cold after the emotions finally toned down. A breeze picked up, blowing the sheets of rain at an angle against the ailing man. It gusted harder, suddenly swiping up one of the daisies from the cup and blowing it across the lawn in slow rolls. Dean watched it disappear, leaving no path behind to follow, no reasons, nothing. He gazed after it, wishing that he could will his body to work to retrieve it, but then he realized there were other daisies to be protected, others that were important too and he turned his attention back to the flowers that still remained.

He twisted his hands together, still watching the rain pound onto the stone. Time passed by in a blur of rain, shivers, and gusts of wind.

He sat still, almost like a stone himself and if it hadn't have been for the sudden stop of rain and a ray of sun peeking from behind a dark cloud, Dean would not have moved for hours. However, the sudden light forced Dean to squint. He shuffled, his wet shirt and jeans sticking to his legs and arms.

He blinked, once, twice, a third time and then stood, his shoes sinking gently into the ground.

He made his way towards the exit of the graveyard, not even looking back to check on the flowers.

His feet left their prints in the wet grass, a constant distance apart, never stopping. Never changing. They left a path straight away, away from the pain and sorrow. Escaping from the memories.

Dean wiped his final tear as his shoe hit the gravel on the outside of the graveyard. His face fell into their normal lines, his eyes stony and worn, yet hiding the pain and sorrow from onlookers, burying his love for his long lost brother.

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_A/N: _The time lapse is very bizarre in this story, beginning in the next chapter. I started out in the future and steadily am making my way into the past. Don't panic, I did this deliberately to portray the emotions in a deeper more insightful way. If, at any time in this story you are completely lost then send me either a review or IM and I'll try to clear it up for you. I'm very _very_ protective of this story because it's kinda' a touchy subject that is very serious, so please, if you have constructive criticism then be gentle with me.

Please Review!


	2. Chapter One

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Supernatural… I only own this story line and the poems.

**Saying Goodbye**

Chapter One

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_What if I told you I was going away? _

_For a long time. Not just a couple of days._

_Would you beg me to remain?_

_Or let me go and then take all the blame?_

_How would you feel if I told you I was dying?_

_Would you scream and tell me I am lying?_

_A while ago, I wished upon a star._

_In the end, it didn't take me far._

_But either way, I just have to say_

_that no matter what, I'll be there... always._

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Dean sat down on the chair next to the hospital bed. He reached out and took Sam's hand gently, so gently that his nerves didn't even register the cold skin bellow his fingers.

"Hey buddy," Dean's voice cracked, reaching a higher pitch as he continued. "It's time to wake up."

He reached with his free hand and rubbed back his little brother's brown bangs and then ran his fingers through his hair.

"God Sammy, you scared the crap outta' me. You _are _scaring me." Dean looked up at the monitors; a deep beeping came from several. Dean watched one of the green lines tick up and down, the heart monitor.

He gave a foolish laugh, "Your heart... it's too big for your own good."

Dean broke his stare with the machine and glanced at his brother's serene face. He allowed his expression to fall, "Why didn't you tell me sooner Sammy?"

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Sam stared silently at the star speckled sky. He listened to his breathing, evening it out so that it was in synch with his heart.

A single dot of light flew quickly across the sky. He shut his eyes, feeling foolishly immature, but whispering words that could only be heard by nature anyway.

"I wish that he will understand."

The silence descended again over the young man sitting on the ground, eyes closed, his breath creating small puffs of white condensation in the evening air.

"Sammy?" The irritating nickname made Sam groan in displeasure.

"It's Sam." He sat up, letting out a long breath of air and shivering in the cold.

"Whatever. You're gonna' freeze your ass off out here. Come inside."

Sam stood up slowly and then made his way to the entrance of the dingy motel room they were staying at. The stench of cigarette smoke overpowered his sense of smell, but the warmth from within easily made up for it.

Sam shivered despite the warmth and climbed into bed, regretting the fact that tonight his dreams would be filled with Dean protesting and praying that Sam was lying.

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There was a quiet rustle from the hospital doorway, which interrupted the dull beeping of the heart monitor. Dean's head shot up as he looked around.

"Hey son."

John Winchester stepped from the shadows; his tall frame blocking the hallway behind him. His shoulders were drooping and his face was lax. But what caught Dean off guard were John's eyes.

They had unshed tears gathering in their depths.

"Dad." Dean jumped up and in two strides was standing in front of his father. They held each other's gaze for a few moments and then embraced.

"I didn't know if you'd come."

John broke away, abruptly changing the subject.

"How's he doing," he asked, his gaze landed on his younger son. The machines beeped in their pattern, breaking the silence.

"Not so great," Dean admitted and John glanced over, knowing it had to be bad if his son was willing to say it so honestly.

"He's... he's dying, Dad, and there's nothing they can do to stop it." Dean looked away, feeling helpless. He could deal with the supernatural, but this he couldn't stop and his heart was breaking just thinking about it.

John put his hand on Dean's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "It's alright son, we'll pull through."

Dean's eyes filled with tears. "You and I will, but Sam's not gonna' make it."

They fell silent again, staring at Sam's unconscious body, their hearts tugging and straining at the effort of holing all the emotions at bay.

The beeping filled the room again, attempting to drown out the thoughts of the two Winchesters, but failing miserably.

John released Dean's shoulder and pulled up a chair, Dean following in suit. Dean grabbed his brother's hand again, holding on for an anchor to keep his emotions locked inside.

"The doctors," John cleared his throat, not pleased with the rasping sound emanating from within, "they um... they made sure he isn't in pain?"

Dean nodded, "They said it doesn't hurt… It won't hurt."

John's eyes clouded, the knowledge that Sam wasn't in agony allowing him to relax only slightly.

"And- how much longer?"

"A couple of days," Dean answered solemnly, "At the most."

They silenced once more, watching Sam's chest rise and fall, both unknowingly praying for the same thing; Sam to wake up.

There was another shuffle at the door and someone cleared their throat. Both men glanced up, acknowledging the doctor.

The man entered, his face holding a shallow look, the look that he planted on himself all day, the look that anyone could see right through, the one that hides the truth; their loved one was going to leave the world forever.

"Gentlemen," he smiled forcefully, "any changes I should know of?"

Dean shook his head, his hand still gripping Sam's limp one.

The doctor shuffled with a clipboard and proceeded to check over Sam. He looked at all of the machines, checked his pupils, listened to his heart and then, with another forced smile, left the room.

"I wish he would wake up." John's voice was hollow, almost begging. "I have so much to tell him. I just- I-"

Dean glanced over, "I think he already knows. He's a smart kid."

John laughed, "Yeah. Always correcting my grammar. Even when he was a boy he used to quote Shakespeare and Steinbeck sometimes. I have no idea where he got the books."

Dean smiled mischievously, "No idea eh?"

"None at all," John gave him a look that clearly said '_You-were-so-obvious-but-I-let-you-off-the-hook_.'

The humor faded and silence ruled again. They both looked at Sam sadly.

"He can be stupid sometimes too," Dean's voice was biting and accusing. He closed his eyes, his anger fading to sadness.

The warmth from under his eyelids was trying to break free, trying to force its way down Dean's cheek. He leaned forward, pressing Sam's hand to his forehead.

"Dad," Dean's voice betrayed his calm collected expression. He choked on his words, "I don't want him to go."

The statement was like deja vu. Dean had said those same words before Sam had left for college. But this time they held more pain, more emotion.

"There's nothing we can do, son." John leaned forward, composing himself. It was hard to admit that the future was truly etched in stone, hard to give in to the fact that one of his sons would not walk the earth any longer. He wanted to let down his walls, to just cry, but Dean's pain was obvious and he didn't want to lose both of his sons as they had lost their mother _and_ father.

"Sammy," Dean's voice croaked from below the hand he was still holding to his forehead. There was a pause.

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"It says here that Jennifer Bashlen died of a stroke." Sam flipped through the obituaries, reading the ones he found the most intriguing.

"Right. Well, people die of those all the time Sam. Not weird at all," Dean replied, taking a swig of his beer.

"It is strange when the girl is only twelve years old and seemingly healthy until her death," Sam pointed out rather snidely.

Dean looked away gripping his drink and eying the waitress, "Whatever, let's dig into it."

Sam grinned, knowing he'd scored himself a point.

Dean hadn't looked back. Sam stared at him and rolled his eyes when Dean suddenly broke into a flirtatious grin.

"Anything else boys," the waitress smiled at Dean and then Sam, blatantly ignoring Dean's look of sexiness.

"The bill please," Sam replied. Dean continued smiling.

The waitress nodded and then turned to retrieve the check.

"Man, Sammy! You always do that!" Dean glared at him and finished off his beer.

"You always do _that_!" Sam tapped the table with his fingernails. The waitress returned holding a check. She handed it to Sam, assuming he was the one that was paying.

"Thanks boys." She smiled and then walked away, Dean's eyes following her the whole time.

"Dude... let's go." Sam tossed the bill to Dean who in turn threw a wad of money onto the table.

They stood up and left, Dean glancing over one last time at the waitress.

"Where to Geek Boy?" Dean took out his keys, rattled them and then loaded into the impala.

"Napa, California." Sam smiled at Dean.

"We're not going just so you can see the Main Street are we? Cause that is just lame."

Sam laughed and then shut his door with a snap.

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"So...where are all the hot chicks and bars? Eh Sammy boy?" Dean grouched grumpily. The little town of Napa had so many houses it was like an ant farm.

Dean scowled at the porch lights and scanned for any sign of a motel.

"Why do I always let you do this?"

"Do what," Sam asked distractedly.

"Drag me to no man's land. No woman's land... geese."

"'Cause you let me. And besides, you started it." Sam fiddled with the map he was holding and then glanced up.

"Oh, turn here..." Sam pointed at a small road that led to nowhere.

"What's here?" Dean pulled the car onto the small road.

"A motel. We can't interrogate the family in the middle of the night."

"Right... are you sure it's down here?" Dean looked around trying to find a building among the darkness.

"It's a little ways in. You're so impatient!"

"I don't do good-"

"Well. You don't do _well_."

"Thank you, College Boy! Anyway... I don't do _well_ with small hick towns and cows." Dean shuddered, imagining the horrible smell of cow dung.

"This isn't an agricultural town, Dean. It just has a low population."

"And I don't think they've realized they're slightly behind on the revolution." Dean said, glancing at the hotel they were quickly approaching. Sam looked at it also, obviously agreeing because he remained silent.

The building was old and falling apart in random places. The shudders were painted an off-green and the wood was chipping. It looked more like a run down shake than a motel.

"This is it," Sam said, double checking the address and nodding.

"Let's go then. I could use a bed right now." Dean parked his precious car and then climbed out.

It took a good half an hour to check out a room. The clerk kept telling them it was inconvenient to awake someone in the middle of the night and purposefully took ages to run the transaction on Dean's fake credit car.

When they finally arrived at their temporary home both boys flung themselves onto the beds, sighing and falling asleep without changing.

Suddenly, Dean sat bolt upright snatching at the knife he had underneath his pillow. He had no idea why he'd woken so suddenly, but then he heard it again. Sam was yelling.

Dean shot off the bed, immediately switching from sleeping man to overprotective brother.

"Sammy?" Dean threw himself towards where he last remembered seeing the light switch. He flicked them on and whipped around to see his brother. Sam was tossing on the bed, sweating and mumbling.

Dean rushed forward. "Sam! Wake up!" He shook his brother's shoulder and jumped back as Sam pitched himself off the bed. His long frame landed roughly on the floor. Dean reached forward and felt his forehead.

"Sammy?" He smoothed back his messy hair, "What happened?"

Sam cleared his throat, swallowed roughly, and then licked his dry, cracked lips. His eyes were glassy and he obviously was still envisioning his nightmare.

"Let me get you some water," Dean helped him onto the bed. He rushed off after making sure Sam was well balanced and filled a cup with cold tap water.

"Here you go Sammy." Sam took the glass gratefully and gulped it down in three steady swallows.

"What happened?" Dean was sitting next to him now, his eyes begging and hopeful.

"Just a nightmare." He looked away, frowning deeply.

"What happened in it?"

Sam shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows, "I- don't remember."

Dean could tell he was lying but he didn't push the matter. If Sam didn't want to relieve some of the stress then Dean wasn't going to force him to.

"Alright." Dean stood up, oblivious to the fact that Sam was holding his chest and tears were glistening in his eyes as his brother's strong frame went back to his own bed.

Sam closed his eyes gently, allowing some of the fear to dissipate.

"Dean?"

Dean looked over at his brother's slumped back, he was still sitting on the end of the bed.

"Yeah Sam?"

"I'm dying." Sam blurted it out so suddenly and with so little emotion that both brothers were shocked.

"What?" Dean's voice was a mere whisper shocked and unbelieving. "This isn't funny Sam. If you're trying to get back at me than you're screwed in the head..."

"Dean, I'm dying," he said it again, more forcefully this time. He turned to Dean and allowed himself to make eye contact.

Dean didn't say anything. His mouth was dry and his eyes were starting to burn from not blinking. He swallowed convulsively.

"You- you're joking right?" The seriousness of the situation deepened as Sam only shook his head.

"What?" Dean's eyes burned again, but dammit he was not going to cry! Sam had to be lying. He had to be playing some kind of sick joke on him.

"Dean-"

"Shut up!" Dean stood up from the bed, angrily slamming the bedside table in the process.

Sam flinched as if the punch to the table had hit him in the heart.

"Dean, I'm-"

"No! God Sam! I can't believe you!" He went to leave the room, his eyes burning in their sockets, but Sam had grabbed him roughly by the shoulder.

"I'm sorry Dean."

Dean's stomach rose into his throat. He felt ill. It was painful. He swallowed, eyes suddenly unbearably dry- dryer than a dessert. His body automatically tried to cure the scratchy dry lands by sending a lake full of water to the location.

He felt the first of many tears slide down his cheek.

He swallowed, willing his now overly moist eyes to return to their dry stage. He realized that Sam still had a hold of his shoulder and he yanked away, using the motion to get rid of the wet trail that had remained on his cheek.

"Sorry for what?" Dean kept his back facing Sam, but tilted his head to the side so Sam could hear his question.

"For not telling you sooner… and for leaving you." Sam's voice just sounded lost, not even an ounce frightened that he was actually going to die.

Dean didn't say anything for a while. They both stood still. Finally Dean spoke up, "Is that why you refused to let me go back in Nebraska? Is that why you had that God damned priest heal me? Because you didn't want to be alone before you died?" Dean's voice was accusing and upset.

"No Dean-"

"You are so selfish Sammy!" Dean bit it out with such force that Sam actually took a step back. "You saved me so _you_ could be happy!"

Those words hurt, but what Dean was implying hurt worse.

"Dean I don't want you to die just because _I'm_ going to." Sam looked away, the words Dean had said still burning his heart.

Dean finally faced his brother, "I'm going to be all alone."

Sam made eye contact, his heart shattering when he saw Dean struggling with his emotions, trying to hide his pain behind his typical façade of bravado.

"I'm sorry Dean." Sam said with all his true sympathy. He couldn't voice just how guilty he felt at that moment.

Dean remained silent. He stared at Sam, willing this all to be a dream, willing himself to wake up.

"What of?" Dean asked suddenly, walking slowly to a chair in the corner.

"Huh?" Sam sounded confused. His brother hadn't made any sense and Sam was wondering if maybe he'd gone into shock.

"What's killing you?"

Sam shook his head. "A brain tumor."

Dean looked up, slightly shocked as all the pieces to the sick puzzle of life clicked into place. "So, the visions and-"

"Telekinesis-"

"And why Mom said sorry."

They silenced suddenly, memories from Lawrence flowing unbidden into their minds.

Dean shook his head in confusion. "But don't brain tumors usually affect your functioning ability?"

"Usually," Sam answered honestly.

"Oh right," Dean sighed, "and freak boy here is the exception."

Sam smiled sadly.

"Are you scared?"

The question caught Sam off guard, but he should have been expecting it.

"I used to be. Not anymore though. I guess I'm desensitized with the idea."

Dean nodded.

"Are _you_ scared?"

"I'm scared as hell, Sammy."

The honesty was shocking. Sam went to the empty chair next to his brother.

"Don't be. Even when I'm gone I'll be here. It's not like you won't remember me."

"Yeah, but memories fade Sam. They're like photos, they'll crinkle at the edges first and then yellow 'til they're one big blur."

Sam sat deeper into his chair, "You won't forget all the good times we've had."

Dean looked away, sniffling and then allowing himself to laugh pitifully.

"Nah, I'll remember all our chick flick moments."

Sam laughed, "You mean the ones we _never_ have."

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_A/N:_ As with any story, I had a lot of different ideas for this chapter. I actually was really attached to my first one... unfortunately I was also hooked on the idea I ended up going with: Dean goes back in time and remembers how it all happened. It just worked better for me along with connecting more neatly to the poem I wrote...

chapter three coming soon.


	3. Chapter Two

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Supernatural nor any of the characters. I only own the plot and the poems.

**Saying Goodbye **

Chapter Two

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_Losing is difficult_

_Especially for me,_

_But all I see_

_Is that you belong here_

_Always standing near._

_And yet you're leaving._

_After all these years_

_Of protection and faith…_

_You're finally saying goodbye._

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"No," Dean dropped Sam's hand on the bed and shot to a standing position, "I'm not going to lose him." He paced the floor. "He saved me. I'm gonna' save him now. There's a gotta be way! Maybe a life force demon or maybe I should just summon a freaking Reaper-"

"Dean," John stood up and reached out, grabbing Dean's arm and forcing him to stand still, "you can't stop this. Like you said, he only has a few days. Don't waste them."

Dean's once hopeful expression fell to nothing. His eyes dropped to the floor and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Why him? Why our Sammy?" Dean whispered quietly, knowing there was no answer, at least, not a verbal one.

Before either man could register what was happening they had embraced again. Dean's composure fell, as if hugging his father allowed him to open locked doors.

He finally cried, gripping his dad's jacket with all his might and sobbing into his shoulder.

John silently allowed his own tears to slide out, the pain of hiding them lessening only slightly. He tightened his grip on Dean, wishing he could allow himself the luxury of sobbing too, but deep down he knew he had to stay strong.

Dean's thoughts sent words tumbling from his mouth, words that had been burned into his tongue.

"I'm going to miss him so much."

Dean sobbed heavily, his nose running. He sniffled, trying to regain his composure. After several moments of gulping and deep breaths he finally pulled away, slightly embarrassed by his emotional display. But, he was even more embarrassed when he found that his father was wiping away his own tears.

"I'm sor-"

"No, we both needed that." John cleared his throat and made his way back to the chair he'd been sitting in. He sat down stiffly, staring at Sam the whole time.

"Dad," John looked over, his eyes landing softly on his oldest son, "all I wanted was for us to be a family again. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"This," John motioned to Sam, "was not your fault. I know that Sam wouldn't blame you- no one does. He wouldn't want you to blame yourself when it wasn't your fault."

Dean looked away, the use of past tense digging into his heart. He nodded, even though he didn't agree.

"Is there any chance that he'll wake up?" John's voice was hoarse and flat. Dean looked once more at the back of his dad's turned head for what seemed like the millionth time.

"I don't know. They-um- they gave him a ton of medication."

The silence engulfed them again. Dean walked to his seat and sat down slowly. He reached over and smoothed back Sam's bangs again. They sprang back defiantly in to a sloppy heap.

"I love you." John's voice cracked and he looked at Sam then Dean. "I love you both."

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"Next time I am so not digging the grave," Sam mumbled grumpily as he limped out of the graveyard they'd just burned a skeleton in.

"Dude, I'm the one who always digs the grave." Dean closed the gate behind him, as if that would somehow hide that there was a body missing.

They made their way silently to the car and got in. Sam kept glancing over at his brother, but Dean ignored him.

When Dean finally started the car he reached for the volume dial on his radio and turned it up with a flick of his wrist.

"DEAN!" Sam leaned over and turned the music down until it was only a slight hum in the background.

"I've told you a million times Sammy, driver picks the music and shotgun-"

"Shuts his cake hole. I know, it's just that I'm not really in the mood to listen to grown men yell at me." Sam mumbled while unconsciously rubbing his head.

"Hey, you alright?" Dean glanced over at Sam's weary face and tried to catch his eye.

"Yeah… my head just hurts a little." Sam rubbed his forehead a little bit rougher.

"Want anything? Like a Tylenol?"

"Nah- that's alright." Sam shut his eyes and leaned his head against the window.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"Yes, Dean!" Sam snapped, a little bit harsher then he'd meant to. At the moment, he honestly didn't care; his head was bothering him more than normal. He let his mind drift…

"Sam, wake up… come on man!" Dean was shaking his shoulder, but Sam didn't want to move. His head felt like a ton of bricks and he had no will power to lift it.

"Sam!" Dean's voice was panicked. Sam felt two fingers rest on his throat as Dean searched for any sign of life.

Sam chose that moment to open his eyes and Dean jumped almost a foot, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the car.

"Dude- don't you _ever_ scare me like that again!" Dean was holding his chest while Sam sat up with extreme effort.

"Sam?" He was moving way too slowly. And his eyes- they just didn't look right.

"Say something!"

Sam continued to try and sit up and also to speak, but he was having an extremely difficult time with both.

Dean reached over and shoved him back onto the seat. He waited for Sam's sluggish gaze to land on him.

"Can you say something? Anything."

Sam closed his eyes in a slow blink, but they never opened again.

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Dean gratefully took the coffee his father offered him in the waiting room. The doctor from earlier had kicked both of the men out very suddenly.

Sam had apparently had some complications that needed all of the doctor's immediate attention. He did not wish the Winchester men to survey his every move.

John shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He reached across the table and picked up a magazine. The front cover had a wonderfully decorated granite rock with names scripted deeply into the stone. He jumped slightly when Dean's irritated voice broke through his foggy mind.

"What's taking them so long?" Dean swiped his fingers through his short hair while sipping at his coffee.

Just as the words settled in and were sparking for an answer, the doctor from earlier entered the room. This time, his face did not hide the truth.

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The funeral had been quick. Only a few family friends showed up, or in that case, were even invited, one of whom was Missouri… she admitted to knowing, but refused to say why she didn't tell the men.

Dean had given a small speech… very small. John had said a few words also.

Neither man cried… at least, not in front of each other.

They had thought it would be best to cremate Sam's remains so that no one like them would dig up his bones in the years to come and torch them… but they also decided to go back to Lawrence and give Sam a gravestone next to their mother's.

Somehow it just seemed fitting and, in his heart, Dean promised that he'd have both his and his dad's gravestones put there too. That way, wherever it is they end up they'd all be a family again.

_The End_


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